Take Me to the Stars
by Shinigami's Brush
Summary: Harry gets hauled unexpectedly onto Flint's ship, leaving everyone baffled. No, Captain Flint isn't pleased with his crew. Pre-Movie HP/TP. Child Harry.
1. Freedom

_Take Me to the Stars_

Chapter 1- Freedom

* * *

It was a little sad, Harry decided, to live in a cupboard. But, he thought, it wasn't as terrible as it seemed. The space was a comfortable size, being perfect for him. It was this fact that allowed him to appreciate his small size and stature. And, it wasn't exactly lonely, per say, because the spiders were here. They crawled over his hands and arms and waved at him with their legs from the corners.

There were two in particular that visited him the most and he decided to call them Jack and Jill, after that rhyme he heard from the telly when Dudley cranked up the volume. He giggled as he remembered his aunt sweetly asking his cousin to turn the sound down, but the boy had only thrown a fit until the woman gave up, returning to the kitchen, no doubt to finish cooking lunch, grumbling all the time.

Harry knew his relatives didn't like him that much, from the dirty looks, some unnecessary shoving, and small room he had, but that was alright. He had somewhere to sleep, food to eat, and clothes to wear. After all, he wasn't supposed to be in the Dursley residence anyway, but his aunt and uncle had been gracious enough to let him stay under their roof, despite already having a child to fuss and take care of. Harry also knew that while the way they regarded him was a little unfair, he was better off than some of the other children he saw on a rare trip to London with the Dursleys.

His family was nice. Aunt Petunia gave him pieces of fruit and slices of bread as snacks when it wasn't mealtimes, Dudley shared the morning showers with him from time to time, and Uncle Vernon got a new chair at the dinner table for the extra addition.

Life here, the boy believed, wasn't so bad. He even had a little light in his cupboard so he could find his way around. Though, he pouted, he did wish there were some more things he could put on the plain wooden walls and ground. Then, it would look so _empty_.

One day, on a Friday evening, Uncle Vernon came home, feet unsteady and face red. He had this cloud of sharp odor around him and his speech was slurred. He had returned to the house in the middle of a movie Aunt Petunia and Dudley were watching and decided to join them.

Harry knew from past experience that it was usually best for him to stay away from the man on these days, but his eyes darted to the right, knowing what was in that direction. Then, his eyes darted left where he knew the living room was. From the crack between the wall and his little door, the boy could see the light flickering in the darkness of the house and hear the dialog between the actors. It seemed they were watching a detective murder mystery today. Good. His relatives were completely glued the telly. He opened the crack a little wider when he sensed no movement.

Wait.

He retreated into his cupboard, shutting the opening swiftly as a couch groaned and heaved from the left. Pressing himself against the door, his heartbeat sped up and he held his breath. The ground shuddered under his feet as someone passed by in the hall. _Uncle Vernon_, his mind whispered to him, some how knowing who it was. His ears caught the whisper of a door clicking shut. After a moment, there was a flushing and he swallowed nervously. It wasn't until he was sure the man was back to the movie when he quickly jerked the door and rushed to the bathroom, almost crying in relief.

He did cry in shock when the bathroom door slammed open as he was washing his hands. He hadn't turned the lights on, oping to just leaving the door ajar slightly to let the moonlight in. His hands clutched a bar of soap tightly as he recognized the figure before the doorway. He would recognize it anywhere. It was Uncle Vernon, and he didn't look very happy.

Harry returned to his cupboard, head hanging low and bangs shadowing his face. He had been lucky today to only escape with a few bruises and scrapes, but right now, he almost wished it had been like last he was caught out of his room past eight o'clock. Yes, it had hurt when he was punched and kicked, but somehow it hurt a lot more now than it did then, inside his chest. The boy felt something trickle down his face and he raised a shaking hand up. The liquid smeared onto his fingertips and stared at it in amazement.

Was this what they called tears? He didn't know.

He curled up on his small bed and huddled under the blankets, a small ball, the only toy he had, in his hands. Its dim glow was a comfort to his eyes and he stared at it for an age, thinking.

_Everything was alright._

_Right?_

_Everything, was going to be alright. _

_It would. _

_It would._

_It would. _

**No. **

No, it wouldn't, and Harry knew this. Harry knew that the dirty looks were full of contempt for him, the shoving often left bruises on his elbows and knees, and that the cupboard he was given used to be a broom closet before he came. As for the food, the boy had to go onto his knees and beg for the small morsels from his aunt because he was given the bare minimum at meals, only enough to keep him tethered down to this world. The extra chair at the dinner table also wasn't for him. It was for any business guests that came over for dinner.

Harry clutched his toy even closer to his chest, wishing he was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

He closed his eyes and his breathing deepened as he slipped into a deep sleep.

The old grandfather clock in the middle of the dining room chimed softly and lowly eleven times. The sound was rich as the gong was struck behind the numbered face. A few minutes, Harry Potter was gone, vanished.

* * *

Captain Flint was not pleased with his crew. Exploring the Coral Galaxy, they had found a wandering ship by the name of the _RLS Lady Medallion_ and attacked it with a full frontal assault. The boat was full of gold and riches, everything he desired, but one of his crew decided to _slip up_ at the last moment and blow one of the his own ship's engines. The explosion had immensely crippled their attempt to sabotage the main city and he had wisely ordered a retreat. Luckily, the damage didn't appear to be too major, since they were still sailing at a relatively fast pace, and the crew member was only mildly injured. The gun that dropped into the pipes and gears, however, wasn't so fortunate.

The irritated man gnashed his teeth in frustration at the treasure lost and clutched the wooden railing, almost strangling it apart. He could feel the sensation of the yellow metal slipping from between his fingers like sand. Then, he returned to his cabin, snapping orders out to whomever had the misfortune to come across his path when he was in this mood, intent on recording the loss down, even if it was a failure.

Yes, he was not pleased. Then, a voice called from the crow's nest and he didn't resisted the urge to snarl angrily.

"What is it?" he asked, spitting the words out. "It better be good or you're thrown off the ship for good!"

"I-It's a vessel, sir! Too small to be a ship. Very strange oval shape. Forty-seven degrees north-west, sir! It appears to be blue and unmanned." His irritated mood was slightly lightened when he heard the fear drifting with the lookout's words, but was also intrigued.

"Somebody get me a spyglass," he snapped, holding a hand out. "And make it quick." The instrument was instantly pressed into his gnarly hands and he raised it, focusing on the directions. True to the lookout's words, there was a blue pod out there, floating, as if waiting to be plucked from the dark space. It made Flint curious and he gave orders to his first mate, knowing the man would be just a step behind him, like always. "Give the orders to go forty-seven degrees north-west, Grant. We're going to capture that vessel!" The man inclined his head with an, "As you command," before belting out the orders to the rest of the crew.

Flint grinned, showing off his sharp teeth even more and creating a frightening picture, as the deck became alive. Men popped out of holes and rose from below decks as Grant shouting everything necessary to change direction. Good man, Grant was. There was nothing like a good first mate that a captain could have. He caught the thin man's attention and curtly said, "Call me as soon as that thing is brought on starboard board." Then, he left to go back to his cabin, this time to add in two new logs to the record. The crew members around him shuddered as they heard his chuckle.

When the captain laughed, it was a longer day for everyone.

The beastly man shut his door and locked it securely, tucking the key safely into a breast pocket, feeling his body relax slightly now he was in his own environment. He drew the drapes down over spacious windows and lit a candle. The wavering light was small, but served its purpose as he sat down in front of his desk. He opened the top drawer and took a green covered book out. In golden letters, it read _Ship's Log: Walrus_. He carefully unscrewed the top of an ink bottle and dabbed a quill in.

"Month of February, the twenty-second. Location: Coral Galaxy. Found merchant ship _RLS Lady Medallion_, but failed to attack due to crew member dropping weapon into engines. Found blue vessel hovering space." At this, he paused, the tip just above the parchment, before setting the writing utensil down. "Name is unknown." Deciding to stop recording for the time being, he closed the book and returned it under the table. Then, he reached under the table.

Pushing a hidden switch with his claw, a decorative square popped out and he twisted it before pushing it back in. This caused a creak and whirr to sound before the first drawer popped open again, only this time instead of a green bound book, there was a stack of loose parchment. It was these that he took out reverently and set them on the wooden surface. He let out a breath of contentment.

On these parchment, lay designs and lines of every sort, all carefully lined in ink. Flint's eyes glowed as he gazed upon his work. Every inch of detail was done deliberately by him. He was a clever man, and knew how to protect what was important, like his cabin space, for example. He fingered the key against his chest and grinned as he shuffled through his papers. However, he eventually got to the last few of the stack and scowled, spreading the two sheets out in front of him. His red eyes narrowed.

It was these two projects that brought him great frustration. Despite having been the first two inventions he had designed, they remained incomplete all these years, and he growled deeply in his throat.

One was a humanoid robot, designed to be the perfect crew member, programmed for any task assigned to it, and only took orders from Flint. Bio Electric Navigator, or B.E.N. for short. It would create its own energy and run continuously without constant maintenance, but what this energy would be, was his obstacle in this invention.

The other was much more complex. It was supposed to a portal, so he wouldn't have to waste time idly as the _Walrus_ traveled from place to place, but he hadn't come up with much with that innovation still. He clenched his fist. It all boiled down to the energy source.

Solar power, while obvious, was not reliable for what he intended. Most everything in this century ran on the sun, and hile that worked fine and dandy for the ships and other things, Flint needed something that could run both on-planet and off-plant, night and day, fair or foul weather. He was interrupted from his thoughts when there was a polite knock on the door.

"Cap'n Flint, it's Grant. We have secure the vessel on starboard deck, as according to your orders." The man stood up and unlocked his door. Giving his first mate a look, he was led to where the strange thing was. Flint found himself strangely eager.

From the moment he laid eyes on it, he knew it was something entirely out of this world, no, galaxy. Never before had be seen such a odd object. Blue in color, it seemed to glow with an opaque aura, covered in an unreadable writing. The crew was crowded around it, but easily parted for him and he inwardly smirked, but scowled just as quickly when he saw a fresh sailor reach out curiously to touch the smooth surface.

"Don't touch it, you bilge rat!" he snarled, six eyes flashing. "What are you? A fool?" Wisely the other kept silent, curiosity curbed by his captain's anger. Flint snorted. Idiocy, it seemed, was spreading across his crew. First was the engine, and now this. Speaking of this... He stared intently at the glowing blue pod. Taking a quill from his pocket and checking it was not one of his favored ones, he twirled with his long fingers before tossing it forward. They all watched with bated breath as the feather floated slowly down. It made contact and there was a collective breath.

1...2...3...4...5...6...

Nothing happened and a few men grunted, daring each other to touch the vessel. Their chuckles were deep and gravely, matching their appearance perfectly and one of them extended a hand. Flint made no move to stop him, wanting to see what would happen if the surface was touched by a hand instead of a feather.

He never got to find out.

* * *

This was a time where Harry Potter could say he was truly, deeply frightened. Waking up somewhere different than when he fell asleep, he was instantly panicked. The tight walls around him, even if they were extremely soft, did not ease his state at all and instead skyrocketed it to higher levels. He heard voices around him, deep and foreign, threatening, and his small frame trembled. His body tensed and there was a pressure on his chest. He blinked, realizing that he still had his ball with him. A new look entered his eyes and his ears picked up on a slightly rustling outside of... wherever he was. It seemed something was coming and he prepared himself.

The instant his prison was cracked open, he leaped out, toy clenched safely against his chest. He didn't notice a bright white light flare around him, blinding anything and everyone within ten meters of him. His mind was focused on only one thing: escape.

The boy noticed the area he was in was small and constricted, but there were enough little nooks and crannies he could hide in easily. Spotting an opening in the deck, he jumped through the narrow opening, hearing cursing behind him. His legs pattered faster against the wooden deck, feet slapping rhythmically. By the time the voices were gone, he allowed himself a break and surveyed his surroundings. He was in an odd room, full of tubes and knobs to turn. He wiped his his forehead with a sweaty palm. It was also warm in here too. He froze.

"What do we have here?" an elderly tone asked. "A boy? No, it can't be, can it? My eyes must be deceiving me." A wizened man stepped from the shadows of metal and grease. His eyes were covered with monstrously large goggles and he was bald, but had a beard of white. He squinted at Harry before smiling. "Well what do you know, it is a young boy. What's a young boy got to do on a pirate's ship?"

"P-Pirate's ship?" the dark-haired boy squeaked. "I'm on a pirate's ship?" The man nodded proudly and squatted so they were more even in height.

"You got that right, laddie. And this is no ordinary pirate's ship, it's Captain J. Flint's ship, the _Walrus_." He sighed. "That man's destined for great things, great things." The giant eyes behind the goggles focused on Harry. "But enough about this ship and her captain. What are you doing here?" The boy was silent, stiff as a board. Nodding and humming thoughtfully, the man stood up to his full height and beckoned him to follow. "Let's talk about this over some tea and cookies, shall we? The name's Ol' George, by the way." George ambled down the narrow path and Harry glanced back where he knew the other men were before deciding to follow the strange man.

He was led to a room that was small, but homey. He gazed about in amazement at the sheer amount of things compacted into the cabin. Pictures and pictures were posted on the wall, hiding the dull black-gray color with words and color, but what caught Harry's attention the most were the hand-drawn designs that seemed to dominate space. Flying machines, little nick-knacks, and practical mechanisms alike dotted the wall like candy at a carnival, something you never got enough of. He stared in speechless wonder and genius displayed about him. Now, he didn't understand most of it, but knew intellect when he saw it.

George chucked at the boy's gobsmacked expression, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to him. At this, Harry was shaken from his staring and accepted the drink with both hands, feeling the warmth from his hands seep into the chipped cup. He peered into the brown liquid. Cold tea?

"Now," the old man said, sitting down on his bed. He waved the boy to come next to him. "Tell me how you came to be on the _Walrus_." The dark-haired boy gazed down into his reflection pensively. There was a nudge on his side and he looked up. George was holding out a plate of cookies and he took one, biting into it. It was hard and brittle, but still one of the sweetest things Harry had in a while and so he didn't complain. He washed the crumbs down with some tea, almost spitting it back out. It was so bitter. Not wanting to insult his host, he refrained from making a face.

"How I came here...I don't quite know myself," he admitted quietly. The man seemed friendly enough. "I'm sleeping on my bed one moment and then I wake up in this strange, blue thing. Somebody opened it and I ran away, coming here." His grip on the glass cup tightened. "That's all." George nodded, not pressing for details.

"Usually when strange things happen in life, I like to think it was meant to be. That way, it doesn't seem as bad."

"Like destiny?" The man nodded, taking a long drink of tea.

"Just like destiny. If it's meant to be, then it's meant to be. There's no point in fighting it." At this, Harry frowned and he gave George a hard look.

"That seems rather pessimistic of you to say so." The old man shrugged and swirled his cup around.

"To each their own. That's the philosophy I've been living by and it's served me well."

"Well..." the dark-haired boy trailed off, not know how to say what was on his mind without offending the other. George noticed this and smiled crookedly.

"Look, kid. I never said you had to take it as your own. I just said that was mine. That's it. You're free to come up with your own way of life." He gave the other an amused look. "It took me thirty years to come to that conclusion. You're in no need to rush to find yours." Harry's eyes widened at the implied offer in that statement.

"You mean...?" he asked. The elderly nodded in affirmation, standing up and collecting both tea cups. He deposited them in a bucket.

"Take as long as you need." Harry felt a true smile tug on his lips and he grinned, giving George a grateful hug, but immediately shied away after.

"S-Sorry," he mumbled, looking down. His relatives hadn't liked him touching them and he didn't know if this man, who had kindly given a place to stay, would like being touched by him either. A pair of white bushy brows shot up in question.

"For what is there to apologize for?" George asked, and then he cackled with glee. "Pretty soon you'll regret taking me up on that offer. I'm going to work you so hard, now that I have a young ruffian like you around now."

Harry had to work for a place to stay again, but he found he didn't mind so much anymore. Instead, he felt even more liberated and energized. He laughed.

Was this what freedom felt like?

* * *

Hey all you readers! I am back from a long, long hiatus of no writing! I just watched _Treasure Planet _this afternoon and had to get this out before my inspiration flew out the window. So, forgive me if I'm a bit rusty.

Feedback is appreciated. Should I continue this?

Next chapter, Harry meets Flint.

Love,

Shini


	2. Dawn of a Legend

_Take Me to the Stars_

Chapter 2- Dawn of a Legend

* * *

George, Harry soon found out, was the mechanic of the ship they were currently on. The first time he had asked what the man did, he got a laugh in return.

"This old piece of junk," George fondly said. "I practically built her with my own hands." The old man ran his fingers lightly over the tubes and wires that surrounded them like a cocoon. "I know every nook and cranny of this ship." Harry looked dubiously at a cable that seemed to be hanging half out of its socket, doubt on his mind.

"It doesn't look like much," he commenting, wrinkling his nose. The man harrumphed and crossed his arms, shaking his head at the boy's ignorance.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said in disappointment. He had been told the green-eyed boy's name earlier after some cajoling and light teasing. "It's not just a bunch of bolts here in front of us. It's _life_."

"Life?" Harry asked, curiosity in his tone. "What do you mean? Wait," his eyes popped open. "You don't mean... the ship's alive?" George blinked owlishly for a moment before roaring with laughter. He shook his head, wiping his tears away.

"Oh no, you've got it all wrong. By 'life', I mean how everything works together to make this fly. Otherwise, it would've been long gone and sunk. Heaven forbid if the ship's alive. We'd be haunted then!" He snorted. "It would be funny to see those pussyfoots scream for their mama's if they saw a ghost around here. They'd be scrambling to throw themselves overboard!"

Harry nodded agreeably, even if he didn't understand all of the words, he got the gist of it. Suddenly, the hazel eyes behind white busy brows lit up and George grinned. "Hey!" He pointed a finger at Harry. "Why don't you dress up as a ghost and shake some livers upstairs?"

"Me?" the boy parroted, tilting his head in confusion. "Why me? Can't you?"

"No," the old man pranced on his feet impatiently, making a strange sight. "Can't you see? Some of them already know who I am and what I look like, but they don't know you! It's perfect," he cackled, rubbing his hands together. "This will get them back for throwing that gun into the engine room and banging everything up in there," he muttered to himself. "The bastards are lucky there had been only some light damage this time, or I would've skinned their hides." He swooped onto the unfortunate boy with a grin. "But never mind me, let's get this started."

"Do I get a say in this?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. He didn't put up much of a might as he was ushered into the cabin.

"Nope!" George exclaimed. Releasing his hand on the boy's back, he rummaged around his drawers, mumbling. "Where's that old makeup case gone? I swear I put it it here somewhere..." The dark-haired boy's eyebrows lifted at the mention of 'makeup' and smirked.

"Why do you have makeup, George?" he drawled, sitting on a chair in the corner. He crossed his arms and legs. "Have you been hoarding it to hide all your wrinkles, old man?" George paused in his search to wag a bony finger, chuckling.

"Now you hold on a minute, you scallywag. I was quite handy with the sword when I was younger." Flexing his arms and posing, he continued. "I've still got some springiness in these old bones yet!" His caterpillar eyebrows waggled in a challenge. Harry laughed, eyes sparkling.

"This is war!" he shouted, grabbing a nearby pillow and pouncing forward. He pelted the other mercilessly with the giant pillow, but wobbled as the size unsettled his balance and paused, waving his arms about. "Woah," he gasped, falling backwards onto the bed sheets.

"That was my mental telepathy," George sniffed, poking his nose into the air. "Be in awe of my powers, young grasshopper." But instead of 'grasshopper', the old man had substituted for a 'grasahoppa', and Harry giggled from his spot, curling up on his previously weapon.

"You're funny," and the man bowed deeply from the waist, winking.

"I serve to please my most gracious and magnificent king." The boy managed to compose himself quickly and sat straight up, adopting a snobbish pose and tone.

"You should do good to remember that, my liege. Do not forget it. Now," he said, outstretching his hand regally. "Show your respect."

"Of course," George responded, taking the hand. He leaned forward as if to kiss it, but pulled on it instead, unsettling Harry from his high perch with a cackle.

"Hey!" the boy protested, tumbling to the ground, but grinned and accepted a hand to be helped up. "Now, about that plan," he mused, cleaning up the mess they had made in the small room. "Are you serious about it?" The man nodded excitedly, shuffling through the mothballs and dust underneath the bed.

"Yes, yes," he exclaimed. "I've got the perfect idea!" Withdrawing a cardboard container, he popped it open and took a black box out, grinning outrageously. "This," he crooned. "Is the key." Harry cautiously opened the plastic cover out before shutting it quickly and paling. He looked a bit queasy and looked at the man, unsure.

"Are you positive this is going to work?"

"Of course."

Harry suddenly got a foreboding feeling and he looked around for an escape route. As if by reading his mind, George stood up and blocked the doorway with a sweet expression on his grizzly face.

"Come on, Harry," he said persuasively with what the boy believed to be an an evil gleam in his eye. "It's not that hard. All you need is a little makeup and..." He leaped forward, intent on grabbing the dark-haired boy. Harry jumped a mile into the air, scrambling for the wall, but didn't have much room anywhere else to go. George's hand was firmly grasped on the others shirt soon and Harry crossed his arms with a pout.

"Your room's too small," he complained. "It's not fair."

George only laughed.

* * *

Harry gazed critically at his reflection in the small mirror George held up, turning his head this way and that way, admiring his beautifully decorated face.

"Well," he said, watching his pale lips move to form the words. "I don't know how you did, but it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the man scowled, knocking against the boy's head lightly with his free hand, careful not to displace the strands. "I am well practiced in disguises." Harry widened his eyes, wiggled his eyebrows, and watched, fascinated with how the colors on his skin shifted.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, and finally leaned away. "Wait, don't tell me." He cast a glanced over the old man. "I'm not sure if I want to know." George smirked, setting the mirror on a desk.

"Wise answer. Now, do you remember what to do?" the man asked, and Harry nodded resignedly, standing up smoothly.

"Yeah, let's get this over with." George patted him on the shoulder and gave a nudge. The boy darkly glared back and the elderly man laughed.

"That's the spirit."

Jetsom and Flotsam were two peas in a pot, alike in every which way. They looked the same way, talked the same way, walked the same way, and even ate the same way. The two were twin brothers, and used this to their advantage every opportunity they could. Pranking, they believed, was the only reasonable faith. However, there was one thing they could never agree on.

"I want to play Kismet!" Flotsam protested to his brother, waving the game cup around. "We played your game yesterday!"

"Yeah? So?" Jetsom shouted, reaching for the cup. "I'm the older brother and I say we play Twenty-and-One!" He held his hand out, not wanting to chase after something he knew he wouldn't be able to catch any time soon.

"I don't care if you're older! It's only by twenty-two minutes!" Flotsam said, not giving the cup up. "It's not fair!" Jetsom growled in frustration and decided to forgo being patient and jumped at his brother's arm.

"Twenty-two minutes is a lot! I don't like playing Twenty-and-One!"

"That's because you always lose!" Flotsam teased with a light grin on his face, but it disappeared with the response.

"Oh yeah? Just like you always lose at Kismet!" The younger brother flushed in embarrassment and anger, jerking his hand and the cup always from the other.

"At least... at least..." he fumbled for something to say in retaliation.

"At least I don't prance around like I'm drunk."

"Yeah!" Flotsam grinned. "That!" Then, he registered what had just happened and both brothers jumped back from the voice, argument forgotten. Both drew out their weapons, Jetsom with a rapier and Flotsam with a broadsword. However, somehow in the process the older brother had knocked his elbow into his younger brother's hand, killing his balance, and both tumbled to the ground. Flotsam glared and kicked at the barrel chair they tripped over.

There was a giggle and they stood up in unison, tensing.

"Who's there?" Jetsom demanded through the darkness. "Whoever you are, come out or we will show no mercy!" A small, white figure stepped out from the shadows and smiled at the two.

"Hello."

They gaped.

"A g-ghost?" The specter smiled calmly and held out its pale hands, showing it was unarmed.

"That wasn't very polite, now was it?" it asked. Jetsom covered for his brother's blunder and introduced himself, still keeping a wary eye forward.

"I'm Jetsom Tang and this," he jabbed a thumb to the side, "is my brother Flotsam Tang. Who are you?"

"Lovely names. You may call me whatever you please," the ghost said breezily, gazing curiously at the objects on the table. "It doesn't matter." It reached to touch the cup, but paused and withdrew its hand.

"What's this?" it asked, pointing at the dice. They had fallen out in the brothers haste to ready their weapons. "I don't think I've ever seem something like it before."

"Really?" Flotsam said, speaking up. "You've never seen a cup and dice before?" The specter shook its head and he rushed to the table and sat down. "Here, I'll show you how to play Twenty-and-One."

"No, I'll teach her how to play Kismet. It's a much better game."

"Kismet is a game that dramatizes everything with its colors." Flotsam retorted, not relenting the cup and die to his older brother. "Twenty-and-One is fair to everyone who plays."

Harry watched the two squabble amongst each other over their referred games and covered his mouth, trying to stifle his giggles. They thought he was a girl? He didn't mind too much though. It was better than being cut into pieces of a shish-kecab. From what he could see, their blades were very much real, and very much sharp. But still, he couldn't blame them. With a light lavender dress and his longer hair, he could easily pass for the fairer of his species.

"Why don't you teach me both?" he suggested, and laughed when faced by two bemused faces. He leaned back on his heels and rocked back and forth with an innocent expression. He waved his hand. "Do go on. Don't let me being here bother you."

The two brothers soon decided two was going to go first with a fast and furious game of rock-paper-scissors and Flotsam sat back, disgruntled, as Jetsom grinned and took the cup from the other.

"So," he said conversationally. "What's your name?" Harry sat down on the last remaining chair carefully, so as to not not mess up his clothes.

"I said you could call me anything," he said, amused. "As long as it isn't too silly."

"How about..." Jetsam started, but was quickly interrupted by his brother.

"Lily." Flotsam said. "She should be called Lily." The older considered this for a moment before shrugging.

"Whatever, I don't care as long as you don't mind," he said, directing this at the dark-haired boy. Harry nodded to show his agreement and Jetsam continued with his game.

"Now in Kismet, all you're supposed to get the most points possible and you win the the game. To get points you're supposed to..."

Harry glanced around, wondering what the ship was like. Last time he had been in the upper decks, he hadn't really stopped to appreciate the scenery, so he regarded this as his first time up there. His eyes widened at the sight of planets and moons and stars all around them and he only just barely managed to stifle a gasp of disbelief. It was _beautiful_, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to take his eyes off of a cluster of lights, dazzling with all sorts of colors and patterns.

"Hey Lily," a voice broke into his thoughts. "Are you paying attention to what I'm trying to teach you?" the ghost smiled sweetly and nodded.

"Yes Jetsam, I'm paying attention." The young man crossed his arms and gave her a doubting gaze.

"I don't think you are." Harry narrowed his eyes, but still had a pleasant expression.

"Try me," he said challengingly with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Then," he put the dice down in a formation on the table and looked up, smiling. "What's this?"

"Flush," the boy sing-songed, swinging his feet back and forth. "Try something else." Jetsom obliged and tried again, flipped and switching the faces. "Straight." Harry's eyes darted side to side as he read the numbers. "Two pair same color. Full house. Four of a kind."

"Damn, smart kid," Jetsom murmured. "She hasn't gotten one wrong yet." Flotsam reached over and gave his brother a wallop over the head. The victim hissed and turned around. "What was that for?"

"Language," Flotsam said with a smirk. "Aren't you supposed to be a good role model, _older brother_?"

"Why you!" Jetsom abandoned the game to tackle his brother. "Come over here into my fist and I'll show you how loving your _older brother_ can be!"

Harry was content to watch the two wrestle and tease each other, but the dark sky around them was lightening and soon the sun would be up. Remembering what George told him, he quietly stood up to slipped away unnoticed. As he was leaving, he was struck with a sudden idea and carefully took the flower headpiece from his hair, a purple lily, and put it gently on his seat. Deed done, he quickly retreated backwards into the shadows before escaping below decks.

Once he was safely on his way back to the heart of the ship, where all the machinery were, he allowed himself a yawn and rubbed his eyes tiredly. It had been an interesting night for him. He padded softly on the conveniently square-tiled ground and knocked on George's cabin door.

"George?" There was no response and Harry pushed the door open. It opened without a sound, having been oiled recently, and gave the boy a chance to see what was inside. He smiled gently. George was sleeping.

The old man was sprawled on on his bed, snoring softly, stomach rising and falling with each breathe. He was still in his work clothes and boots, so it was likely he had fallen asleep waiting for Harry. The dark-haired boy shut the door behind him, muffling the clank of machines and began to tidy up the small room so nobody tripped in the morning, or was it in a few hours?

Harry curled up in his little cot with a content sigh, back into his normal clothes with a normal skin tone. His hair was still stiff from whatever George had put in, but didn't bother him too much as he snuggled against his pillow. In the beginning, the bushy-eyebrow man had insisted on Harry taking the bed, but the boy had quickly shot that idea down. So, he was stuck with a cot, smaller than his bed back at... the Dursleys, but somehow it felt more inviting and comfortable than the bed. Harry just shrugged it off as George behind the one who provided it and not his aunt and uncle.

The boy closed his eyes, tired, and slipped into slumber, unknowing of the chaos his night appearance would make in the next few hours.

* * *

This honestly wasn't the best chapter, being shorter than the previous chapter, but on the bright side, things are going to be _very_ interesting on the _Walrus_ in the future. XD

Don't hesitate to drop a word or two in a review. They help! And really, HPTP crossovers need some more lovin'. Anyone want to start a crossover? I submitted this and was curious as to what others were doing in this section and checked, only to find a solitary fanfic. It's sort of lonely.

On the random side, what band made the song "The Great Escape"? I was watching a German trailer for _Tangled _and then that song came up on the second half (I have no idea how that happened.) And don't get me started on the "neu verfohnt" part... Anyone know what that means?

Love,

Shini


	3. Ears in the Walls

_Take Me to the Stars_

Chapter 3- Ears in the Walls

* * *

"George, am I doing this right?" Harry wiped his forehead with a sweaty arm, calling out to the old man. Bored under the ship, he had taken up to helping his friend here and there around the metal and gears. That was the reason why his face was sooty and hands covered with slightly-too-big rubber yellow gloves. The boy hopped off the ladder to let the other up. Around him, warm steam hissed out of vents.

"Let me see..." George grumbled, sliding a pair of small glasses down his nose. His eyes squinted as he tried to pick up the small fixes Harry made in the work. He tapped a few places with the butt of his wrench and nodded. "Hmm... everything seems fine here."

"Really?" the boy's face brightened. "I'm helping you, right?"

"Yep!" the old man flashed a thumbs up in approval, contrasting his elderly age. "I don't know what I would do without your young eyes." Harry rubbed his nose bashfully, looking to the side, a pink tint appearing on his face.

"Aww, I think you would do fine. You have been here for a long time," he grinned cheekily and rocked on his heels. "You've probably been here for an eternity I bet, old man!"

"Such disrespect!" George mock growled, climbing down the ladder. He wagged a finger at Harry disapprovingly. "Get over here and I'll show you how old I am. Unless..." he slyly added with a grin. "You're afraid?" The boy giggled and shook his head.

"No... You're not fooling me with that one again!" Harry had been tricked a few days ago by George's goading and got a major tickling for it. Being found out, George snapped his fingers in dejection.

"Oh damn! I mean," the man fumbled around for a different word futilely before giving the younger a stern look. "You never heard that, you hear me?"

"Hear what?" asked Harry with a innocent look, swiveling his head around. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing," George whistled into the air, making his way back to the back of the ship, where the habitable parts of below deck were. He stripped his hands of gloves and motioned the boy to come with him. "Come on, let me show you something."

* * *

Captain Flint turned it this way and that way, watching the candle and sunlight shine off the metallic surface, curiosity flaming in his red eyes. It was strange, the golden orb that had appeared with the arrival of the space pod. He suspected there was something else that came along with the vessel since it was distinctly human shaped, but there was no sign of an intruder on the ship.

The ball seemed to be made of interlocking parts, like a jigsaw puzzle, but the creature had never seen such a mystery. The cracks, the space between the pieces, were so minuscule and hair-thin that it was hard to believe it wasn't a solid golden orb. Normally, such a thing was heavy due to the substance it was made from, but it was fairly light, as if made for a child.

Then there was the hum.

The hum was even odder than the object's appearance, because the ball did absolutely nothing at all. In Captain Flint's experience, if there was a hum, a machine was at work. And, if a machine was at work, then something was bound to happen. This thing... this toy... however, was stubborn enough to prove him wrong. He glared at it with two of his eyes and gave a menacing growl. His claws scraped against the curved surface, making a screeching sound, but when he checked there was nary a mark on the metal. He checked his claws and sure enough, they were frayed. Slamming his hand against his desk, he scooped up the ball and brought it close to his face.

"Just what _are_ you?" he snarled, baring his teeth. "There is no machine or program that I, Captain Flint, cannot solve! Yet, the proof that I am wrong is right in front of me." With a disgusted noise, he flung the object away in ill temper. "Insolent wretch!" He watched in crash into the wall and roll around the ground back and forth, following the ship's movements. The captain scowled and eyeballed the left corner of his room, where he knew the wheel was. Stalking over, he grabbed a long rifle and started pounding the ceiling.

"Hey, what are you swines doing up there, huh?" he shouted. "Steer the ship probably or I'll have your pansy livers for breakfast!" He swore when the gun went off, nearly missing his foot. Coughing and waving the smoke and gunpowder away from his face, he returned to his desk and slumped down. "What am I doing? It's not like me," he asked himself, clutching his head with a claw. "Getting so hung up on a _ball_ of all things." He glared at the golden orb before snatching it up as if passed by his foot. "But something keeps me from looking away," he whispered. "What... are you doing to me?" The metal just shimmered, as if taunting him, and he turned away with a grimace. With some effort, he shoved it into his desk and slammed the drawer close. For extra insurance, he locked it with a key. "That should do the trick," he murmured, dropping the key into his pocket.

Now, he had a steersman to talk to.

* * *

"George," Harry asked, swinging his legs. They were back in the cabin, eating lunch. He was sitting on the bed, bowl of porridge in lap. The man was seated at the small desk he had, looking at some papers. "What are you looking at?

"This? These are just some prototype designs I made," the old man said, lifting some sheets to show Harry. He pointed to a couple of diagrams. "See? This is a solar surf-board, but I've changed some things." Curious, the little boy clambered over, abandoning his lunch. His eyes glittered with wonder. He tipped his head in confusion. It looked like a bunch of pictures, arrows, and lines to him.

"I don't get it," he stated, a frown marring his otherwise cute face. "It doesn't look like anything." He pointed to a sketch and looked at George questioningly. "This is a solar surf-board?" The old man nodded with a smile and ruffled the others hair, ignoring the 'hey!'.

"Yep, from an aerial view. If you look at a different angle..." he shuffled through the stack for a moment. And another moment. And another moment. "Hold on a minute. It seems I've messed up the order a bit..." Harry laughed at George's flustered state and gave the man his glasses.

"Maybe you need these," he said, flattening his hair. "They might help, don't you think?" The man accepted the bifocals with a grateful smile and set them to perch on the bridge of his nose. He wrinkled his nose to adjust the nose pieces before he was satisfied.

"Now," he said. "Where were we? Looking for the solar surf-board, right?" Harry eagerly nodded, bouncing on the bed in excitement. He had never seen such pictures before. His feet swung back and forth over the edge and a gasp rose from his lips when he saw George's sketch.

"Wow..." he whispered, taking the sheet of paper into his own hands. The 'solar surf-board' was different from the 'surf-boards' back at home when he snuck a look at the telly, but he could see the 'surf-board' part. The only thing was... "What's this for?" he asked, pointing to the bulky part in the back. "Won't that make you sink in the water?"

"Water?" George asked with a strange look. He was confused. "Solar surf-boards fly, my dear boy. I've never heard of a board that works on water." Harry could only say one syllable.

"Oh," but he recovered rather quickly and moved onto another question. "Then, what's this?" he asked, pointing to a wing-like part. "What does this do?" The old man chuckled as he explain, glasses glinting in the artificial lighting.

"That's the solar panel, Harry. It's what powers the whole machine. Also, it helps steering, especially at high speeds when just balancing isn't enough." He tapped the boy's nose with the tip of his finger. "Do you understand now?" The dark-haired boy nodded with a big smile. He raised one arm high in the air, habit born out of public school back at home.

"One more question please!" George chuckled and nodded at Harry. The was just too adorable at times.

"Yes? What is it?" The boy pointed straight up, crossing his legs. "Why do you have lights and everywhere else there are candles?" The old man stared at the other, shocked, before bursting into laughter. He chuckled for a while before gradually calming down and wiping his tears away. George coughed a few times, grinning.

"Well, of all questions, I didn't expect to hear that one!" Harry was baffled by his behavior and it showed on his face. He gazed concernedly at the man.

"Are you alright, George?" he asked, reaching a hand forward, hesitant. His fingers wrapped around a brown, frayed sleeve. "You're not sick, are you?" The old man gently lay his hand over the boy's reassuringly and nodded.

"I'm quite alright. It's just your question surprised me, that's all." Harry looked troubled and drew his legs in, embracing his knees. He gazed at the other over his kneecaps, green eyes shimmering.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly. "You don't have to answer that question." He shrunk and hunched his shoulders when George moved towards him, but relaxed when he was enveloped into an embrace. "George...?"

"You don't have to be afraid to ask anything, Harry," the old man said in a gentle tone. He smoothed the boy's hair down and gave Harry's forehead a kiss. "If want to ask, ask. I don't mind." Emerald eyes popped up at George when the boy craned his head up. The boy blinked a few times, eyes becoming less glassy.

"Really?" he whispered. "You won't get mad?" The man felt his heart pang at the question and hugged the dark-haired boy even tighter, rocking him back and forth.

"Of course not. I'll never, ever, get angry at you for just asking a question." The brunet felt a warm feeling in his chest and he smiled, snuggling into George's embrace. He felt strange, like he was floating on top of the world. Harry had never felt like this before, but he decided, it was nice. It was nice.

* * *

That night, George had decided that Harry would become 'Lily' and haunt the upper decks again. As he dabbed pale powder on the child's face, the brunet felt a tickling sensation in his nose and his nostrils flared. He attempted to hold the sneeze in, but only succeeded for about three seconds before he was defeated by the instinct. The old man laughed at the strange pattern of white pattern on Harry's face before he too sneezed.

"I believe you've started a chain reaction, Harry," he said, voice muffled by a hand. He sneezed again, the motion causing more of the particles to fly into the air. The boy giggled and sneezed at the same time, making a strange noise and they both howled with laughter. Harry clutched his stomach, the muscles beginning to feel sore with the combination of nasal irritation and happiness.

"George," he moaned, flailing his arms around at the old man's hand. "Stop sneezing!" The man gave him a reproachful look before unleashing another torrent of sneezing.

"It's- achoo!- you're fault we're like this. What am I doing?"

"No, it's your fau- achoo!- fault because you're making the powder go- achoo! achoo!- everywhere!" Harry's nose was beginning to feel like a worn-out shoe and he grasped the old man's hand, the one with the powder. His actions only caused him to become even more exposed to the make-up. "Every single time you sneeze- achoo!- the powder goes ev- achoo! achoo!- every- achoo!- _everywhere_!" Finally, he batted the object out of George's hand and the two waved their arms around. Harry wished the air was clean of the dust-like particles and he blinked. Unsure, he gave George a slightly fearful look.

"Harry, did you do that?" the man asked, eyes wide in amazement. He slowly ran his hand through the space around them to make sure. The make-up powder had completely disappeared. The only evidence it had been there was Harry's face and their teary eyes and red noses. "Well I'll be befuddled. It's all gone. Harry?" He turned to the little boy and saw the latter twisting his fingers in nervousness. "Harry," he explained. "I'm not angry or anything. Did you do this?" There was a while before the brunet nodded. George grinned and ruffled the boy's hair. "That's amazing! That's a really useful skill you have there, you know? I've never seen anything like that."

"It's not freakish?" Harry asked, blinking his wide eyes at the old man in surprise. "I'm not a freak?" The man inwardly frowned but shook his head. He gathered the child's small, delicate hands in his large, rough ones.

"Nothing you can do is freakish," he said with look that brooked no argument. "You are a normal, healthy boy, alright? Unless, you doubt my word?" He crossed his arms and made a comical and pompous face with flaring nostrils. His eyebrows and moustache twitched visibly. To his relief, Harry's expression lightened and the boy laughed.

"No, George is always right in everything! If you say so, then it must be so, right?" The old man nodded with a cheerful smile, but felt conflicted. Did he deserve the unquestioning trust the boy put in him? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

"Of course I'm always right," he said, patting Harry on the back. "Who do you think I am?" The truth was sealed and George felt a chord twinge inside his chest.

"You're George, of course!" Harry blissfully smiled, unaware of what was underneath the man's reassured smiling.

_Of __course __I__'__m __George__._

* * *

"Hey George," Harry asked, a pair of thick goggles over his eyes. He wiped some of the steam off the amber-tinted lenses, but only got some grease instead. With an annoyed sound, he shucked his gloves off and cleaned the goggles on his shirt. "When I came, you know that day, did I... have anything with me? Like a ball?" He said this all in a casual tone.

"Not that I know of," the old man's voice floated above the gears and mechanics. He was in a different part of the ship, but sounds carried around the space and communication wasn't difficult. "What's up?" Harry smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, not that George could see anyways.

"Oh, nothing. Thanks," he said, shoving a bolt home into its slot. It made a great deafening noise and he sighed. He turned his head to where he knew the other was. "I'm going back and changing, okay?" A grunt of confirmation was given in reply.

Harry's young features were marred with a frown as he stripped his working overalls and thick boots. His ball... showed no sign of being on the ship up or down deck. He knew this because every night, he had dressed up as Lily and scoured the floors from the crow's nest to the rigging and cargo bay. No sign of anything. He sighed again, seemingly for the hundredth time that day. To be honest, he was worried. He knew he had it was somewhere on the _Walrus_, but where? He heard thudding footsteps coming near the cabin.

"Hello George," he absentmindedly greeted, not looking in the man's direction. "What's for lunch today?" There was a low chuckle, almost raspy-like.

"I'm afraid I'm not George, young one." The boy gasped, making eye contact with the intruder.

It was Captain Flint.

* * *

Yay! I'm alive everybody! I know I haven't been very good with updating this one, but here it is! Work got to me. /mumble mumble/ I love it, but I'm just tired after coming home. And, the funny thing is, I was almost done with this chapter too! I hope the formatting is alright here. The line breaks and italics are rebellious, so if you see anything funny, drop a word.

_Ireadtoomuch- Yeah, I do too. I read too much fanfic, but thanks! There's some more cute Harry here, just more of the more serious kind. _

_Lady Hoffman- /bows/ Your name is so noble! Who doesn't like dressing Harry up as a girl. /winks/ I have some (vague) plans for the future. Keep an eye out for some more of that. It'll pop up in the future. _

_.angel- Yeah I know, right? This fandom needs some more attention. I mean, this is the only fanfic of this kind. /grumble/ I like the magical part of Treasure Planet, so this story is here. I just wish there were more... Thanks for reading and reviewing. XD_

_brightsun89- I'm glad you enjoy it. ^_^_

_candinaru25- This chapter is a bit more serious, but it has its moments, right? Though I do admit I was listening to Fort Minor and Linkin Park when writing this... and Treasure Planet's soundtrack. So... it's a variety? XD_

_Deviously Ruined Rose- Ta da~! Then here's the next chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing~!_

Thank you to everybody who's reading, reviewing, favorite-ing, and alerting!

Review make me happy.

Love,

Shini


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